


Fireworks

by ninamazing



Category: Wonderfalls
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-15
Updated: 2009-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-19 05:51:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/197635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninamazing/pseuds/ninamazing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>"Did this just occur to you?" she demands, going for playful, as his warm fingers cover her waist.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Fireworks

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://823freckles.livejournal.com/profile)[**823freckles**](http://823freckles.livejournal.com/) in the [](http://kinky-hearts.livejournal.com/profile)[**kinky_hearts**](http://kinky-hearts.livejournal.com/) ficathon. Doll, I'm so sorry this is late, and I hope you like it. Happy Day-After-Valentine's-Day.

She blames it all on the goddamned birds. They created a strange chemistry tonight, bringing together Jaye and Eric and Aaron — and Sharon — and some crazy zoo lady and her, in the kitchen at the Tylers' house. Zoo Lady blathered on about mating and pheremones and cloacas until Mahandra felt her thin veneer of sanity slipping.

All these years, she's played it cool. She first noticed it at about twelve, when Aaron was fifteen — which to her, then, was as good as twenty. It was just _weird_ to realize her best friend had a hot brother. Mahandra categorized it as an acceptable quirk of life, though, and moved on: This _thing_ sat under the surface, and she thought that was as far as it would go. She would cast him a few secret glances over the dinner table, overhear his drawling into the phone on her way to Jaye's room, see his books piled on the living room table. He'd raise his eyebrows at her and make a snarky remark, or flop next to her on the couch during _The Simpsons_ like an invitation; she'd wonder if it was flirting and never really find out. It stayed in the background.

Tonight, with the birds, it came to the foreground and it was not a good time. Her fingernails were covered in worm dirt; she'd worked a nine-hour Saturday shift at the barrel. And by God, Aaron's hair was tousled. His voice had a half-asleep timbre to it that would have engorged anyone's cloaca.

 _A challenge,_ he said, like they were still kids. _I challenge you to a kiss._ She was so busy forcing herself not to jump him that she barely registered his words.

And now it hits her. _Why not?_ She's been tossing anti-love rhetoric Jaye's way all night, and doesn't have any left for herself. Why not indeed.

So she knocks on the door.

  
She expected him to be a talker, since she's sat through more than a few of his loopy diatribes on international theological custom. But this is different, and the same; he's silent as he watches her, but the eyes that travel over her underwear and skin are alight with some inner activity.

"Did this just occur to you?" she demands, going for playful, as his warm fingers cover her waist.

"Maybe," he says. He leans forward; nibbles the space under her ear, licks it. "Does that make me stupid?"

"Yes," she answers, and he laughs into her neck as she grabs a belt loop of his jeans. The sound of him shivers through her blood.

She's proud of herself for getting his button undone on her first try, and then proud of _him_ for getting her bra unhooked on his. He holds her to him, dipping his mouth against hers, and it's bizarre to feel this much of him; her underwear, in a silent battle with his boxers, is all she has left.

He kisses much too well for someone who always lost at hide-and-seek, and always won at Monopoly.

  
It isn't just that she's always wondered how this hair would feel in her fingers, she thinks, sometime that night. Her knees are up, his palms on her thighs, his tongue sweeping a patch of skin that feels like it's on fire. She's holding his head between her legs, but she's pretty sure this is the weakest her arms have ever felt. He licks, and sucks, and licks again.

The liquid heat of him is so acute, she can't believe she isn't drunk. He groans into her open folds, and she shoves her head back across his mattress — Aaron Tyler's mattress, the mattress he's slept in every day she's known him, the mattress that was right next door to all her teenage sleepovers. She imagines she's expanding. Her feet, her hands, the top of her head have never felt farther away.

He digs in harder; if she were watching fireworks, she'd classify this as a grand finale. One hand disappears from one thigh before she notices what's happening, and thank God the house is empty because she _has_ to cry out when two fingers thrust inside her.

 _Fireworks_ pretty well covers it.

  
"You're not asleep yet, are you?" he murmurs into her ear, and he rubs his palm against her stomach. Aaron's body behind hers is odd and reassuring at once.

"You don't seem to be either," she points out, and wiggles her hips lightly.

He pulls her closer, and they're both still sweaty. It's so easy to forget tomorrow and waking up, the other Tylers and Jaye.

"I lied before," he says, and nips her earlobe.

She scissors her legs between his. His hands move; his middle finger catches on her belly button and she's trembling, again.

He cups her between her legs. The touch of Aaron is gentler than she would have guessed. They're both quiet together, slow; tired, but grown-up versions of two stubborn children who never wanted to admit it was bedtime.

"Of _course_ this has occurred to me before," he whispers. "Of _course_."

She brings her hand to his waist, and lower. For half a second they hold each other, but she's impatient, and he's following her lead. He strokes her with his fingers after he's inside, and she has to force herself to breathe evenly — in and out — against the surface of his sheet.

She can't help thinking, drawing his arms around her body, that this is probably going to occur to them again.


End file.
